Reykjavik
by cedricsowner
Summary: Sparked by one of tree979's prompts in the discussion forum. It's a Christmas story. Yeah, I know it's August...one-shot. The boys stuck in Iceland.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.**

So they took this job in Reykjavik.

Okay, technically they took this job in Riga, but on their way back to the States a heavy ice-storm forced the plane down in Reykjavik. In the night of the 23rd of December.

For all of you who don't know, Christmas in Iceland is BIG. Especially the 24th – reserved for family celebrations, period.

By the time they had finally found a hotel with a room – yes, singular, one room only – available, the city had pretty much shut down and wasn't going to reopen until after Boxing Day.

Now, with Chance in his usual cheerful Christmas mood, icy rain mixed with snow relentlessly coming down in heavy gusts, the city pretty much closed down and the three of them crammed into one shabby room, one should think it couldn't get worse.

Ah, wait and see.

"They're calling _that_ a shower stall?", Winston shouted from the bathroom. He was suffering from an aching back ever since they had – _um_ – visited that museum in Riga. Pulled muscle, most likely.

"Dude, if you get stuck in there we won't be able to get you out for the next two days. Plumbers are celebrating Christmas, too."

"Wiseass."

Chance hid his smile behind an edition of the Morgunblaðið. Maybe this year's Christmas wasn't going to be that bad after all.

Winston came stomping back into the hotel room, unshowered. At least Chance had managed to charm the owner of a Chinese restaurant into making them some food despite the holidays.

They spread the food out on the bed and made themselves as comfortable as possible, with Icelandic TV blaring in the background. After a while Winston looked up: "What's that?", he asked, nodding in the direction of the nightstand where a medium-sized tinfoil package was placed.

"Back off, Dude, that's mine."

Winston inched closer. "What is it?"

"None of your business."

A short time later Guerrero excused himself, claiming there were some phone calls he needed to make.

Winston sniffed at the package. "_Huh._ What is that?"

"It's called Hákarl. Icelandic specialty", Chance explained.

"Food…"

"You've just eaten, Winston. And it's Guerrero's."

"You realize how often he has stolen my lunch? Time for payback…" Winston proceeded to pull the tinfoil off.

Chance sighed. "You won't like it."

An ammonia smell, not unlike that of a cleaning product, wafted through the room. Winston wrinkled his nose.

"Hákarl is Greenland shark which was buried in sand and gravel for twelve weeks and then hung to dry for a couple of months. When it's fresh it contains so much uric acid and trimethylamine oxide, it's poisonous. Trust me, not your Christmas dinner of choice."

Winston looked at Chance for a moment, then grinned evilly. "Yeah, but it's Guerrero's."

Shaking his head, Chance produced the bottle of brennivín he had bought at the gas station next to the Chinese restaurant. "Pinch your nose when you take the first bite. And grab that wastebasket. First-timers usually gag 'cause of the ammonia."

Filled up with brennivín and Hákarl, Winston was snoring deeply when Guerrero sneaked back in. "Did he eat it?"

"All of it." Chance handed Guerrero twenty bucks which he tucked away triumphantly.

The next day passed by slowly. They slept in late, played cards, killed off the rest of the brennivín. In late afternoon Guerrero suddenly rousted them from their lazy doze, told them to pack a couple of towels and dragged them out into the cold. At least the rain had finally stopped.

A guy in a battered jeep brought them to an outdoor swimming-pool. It was geothermally heated and the goddamn best sight they'd seen all week.

"Owner owes me a favor", Guerrero explained. "We can stay here all night."

Winston moaned in delight as the warm water relaxed his tightened muscles.

Chance floated on his back and stared up to the now star spotted sky. He'd definitely had worse Christmases.

Guerrero watched the two and for once wasn't worried that none of them, not even himself, was armed.


End file.
